Bloodied Dreams
by Hobo From Across The Street
Summary: He wanted this to be a sick joke. He wanted to convince himself that they were only willing puppets, their master an altruistic trickster. Once dawn broke they would all head home in giggles to their welcoming families. What a wonderful delusion.


**Wowzers, I never expected you to actually click the link**!***awkward cough* Well, this is my first story published( hence the most likely juvenile writing XD) born from listening to depressing songs (mostly "Dead Hearts" by Stars), my current fangirl obsession with all things Hunger Games and Hetalia orientated, and overall boredom. Originally, this was meat to be a full out story featuring Canada, America and the personification of Panem but due to laziness and lack of inspiration to write I took an excerpt from my story and wrote it in,errr, drabblish form...if that makes any sense. I actually plan to write out the rest of the story and post it here...but it may be awhile till I post it cursemylaziness T.T Also, forgive me if the writing and/or author's note sounds a bit awkward. My sleep schedule has been off lately and I'm pratically half asleep at the moment.**

**Well, enough of my rambling. I hope you enjoy this,err, drabble! **

**Warnings:Blood, angst!Canada,lack of creativity, shameless references to _Gulliver's Travels, _confusing plot points, horrible and unedited grammar, etc.**

* * *

…Rage. Canada was all too familiar with this feeling, but he forced himself to stare at the screen. He was dimly aware of the soft pattering as France swiftly left the room. He was alone once again. God knows how long he sat there in his tattered chair, not daring himself to blink. Drops of crimson blurred the camera. The sound was muffled, no doubt with efficient editing. Clarity came only when the combatant ended a desperate plea with an anguished scream.

Tears welled in Canada's eyes.

He forced them to halt.

The child, on the other hand, succumbed to the natural urges of guilt, falling to his knees in strangled sobs. The bloodied knife he once carried was buried in sand below. The hand of his former ally twitched in sporadic intervals before it stiffened. The camera paused for a few seconds, waiting until the cannon's roar faded to focus on the weeping tribute. The child was shaking. Bloodshot eyes widened as blades allowed gusts of wind disrupt the tainted grains. It signaled the end.

The video cut to the crowning ceremony.

Canada did little to hide his disgust.

The once shattered boy now beamed at an exuberant crowd. He acknowledged them with a excited waves. His fans cheered louder. The boy stilled as a fit ,but elderly man approached him. His palms clung tightly to a golden band. The boy beamed once more as the golden band was placed on the crown of his head.

Now Canada shook. His hand involuntarily traced his back. He half expected to feel the pinpricks of pain but Netherlands had bounded them so tightly it was numb to the touch. Seventy-three tapes now glared at him in the pile they were shamelessly thrown upon. He only had to last through one more.

The final tape played.

He desired to skip the interviews. Already he could pick up faint hints of his former citizens. Faint, but audible.

_Willow Maylaef_

_Great Granddaughter of George Hellens_

_Canadian Citizen: Author and Editor_

_Captured by Panemian forces_

Canada buried his face in his hands till only his violet eyes were visible, concealing an ugly grimace. It would have seemed out of place for the once cheerful young man. It took a great amount of effort to hold back a choke. It took an even greater effort to keep his gaze on the monitor.

He wanted this to be a sick joke. He wanted to convince himself that they were only willing puppets, their master an altruistic trickster. Once dawn broke they would all head home in giggles to their welcoming families.

He wished for those delusional fantasies.

His eyes closed briefly.

For that moment, he saw America flashing his trademark grin, playfully ignoring a fuming England. His brother's laugh echoed past the black mist. Canada swore he heard him shout " Get open, Sharkbait", accompanied with a toss of a football. It was caught with a clumsy leap by a young boy with waves of red hair. The boy's laugh rang like mocking bells, much to England's scorn. The island nation stormed off muttering "This is a mockery! Bloody colonials and their dimwitted sports!". He let out a final "humph" before brushing past the American. The Netherlands watched the scene before him; a rare smile cracked on the corner of his lips as he turned to Canada. Ukraine stood beside him, chuckling while she trotted to America and the red haired boy. He could just make out the quiet "America! Sir! Don't throw it too hard!" Canada resisted the urge to respond with "She's right, Sharkbait tends to be fragile" but the boy then trained his pale blue eyes on him. The childish smile faded to a blank stare. Pools of sorrow burrowed into violet irises.

Canada abruptly woke from his thoughts to find himself meeting the same hope ridden face. The only difference between the dream and the screen was the label "District Four" under the name "Gulliver Finn".

Canada choked.

His breathes came out in ragged gasps. His vision blurred but tears were held prisoner against disbelief. Reality left him a shell. No longer could he create the serene worlds or relish his memories. His escape fled as soon as the gong drawled for the final time. Canada steadied himself, eyes darting for the sight of red.

Red was everywhere.

It dripped from blades.

It poured from throats.

It lay hidden in the cries of the audience.

_From Panem._

…_Why couldn't he find Gulliver?_

_He couldn't have thrown himself into the Bloodbath!_

_Damn it, where is he?_

Canada didn't care if he looked frantic. He trembled uncontrollably with Gulliver quickly consuming his thoughts.

The cameras shook along with the bloodshed. It was a blur. The world was just a blur.

_This isn't real._

The cameras stilled. Those whose hearts still beat scavenged their conquered area. The cameras panned to the Cornucopia. Behind a pile of war torn bags, a tinge of yellow fidgeted. Anxiously clutching a backpack, Gulliver dashed.

He knew he was clever. He knew he was swift.

_But fear is blinding._

He never knew that Grim loomed over him wielding a forsaken sword.

He fell before he could finish his final breath.

He looked peaceful in death. Both eyes were shut and an arm cradled his head. He could have been sleeping if it weren't for the crimson pool slowly staining his jacket. Despite the terror the boy exhibited before, a ghost of serenity softened his already child-like face.

Time was nothing.

It was nonexistent. Nothing seemed real. Nothing but mortality.

* * *

France was in no hurry to return, yet he stumbled in heavy steps back to his former colony. He had grown considerably pale since his last exit. The chill did not help his aching body as his soaked undershirt clung to his skin. He briefly adjusted the rose that was stuffed in his coat pocket in hopes of disguising the shameful smell soiling his formerly lavished clothes. This proved counterproductive as it only made the foul stench more pungent. For once, France dismissed the current state of his body odor.

He needed to return to Canada.

He couldn't abandon him. He was one of the remaining countries who were still willing to endure the tapes.

In rhythmic steps, he approached the door. He paused only for an instant before he gently pried it open.

He missed injury by the hair of his chin. He jumped back, startled. Glass ricocheted off the wall and sliced into his cloak. He could only gape as shards gathered at his feet. Snapping out of this state, France rushed in and clasped the shoulders of a red faced Canada. He had begun to voice his panicked concern but he was silenced when the Canadian trembled in his grip. He met his former colony's gaze for a fraction of a second before Canada merely shouldered past him.

The remaining corridor echoed with broken sobs.

* * *

**Before I get to expressing my gratitude, I wanted to explain a few things in the story that can't be expressed in the excerpt:**

**Firstly, Gulliver Finn was inspired by the male tribute from District Four in the Hunger Games movie who hid in the Cornucopia. fffffffff I DON'T KNOW WHY BUT I NEARLY CRIED WHEN HE DIED! As odd as it sounds, the first time I saw the movie I had to resist the urge to scream" NO MOVIE, DON'T KILL OFF THE ADORABLE AND PATHETIC KID!" Even though the movie only listed Districts 1 and 2 as careers, I kept referring to the book and thinking" why would a boy of 12 or 13 years of age volunteer as a tribute?" Thus began the processing of creating a back story for the little tribute and ,of course, connecting him to Hetalia and Canada. I don't want to go into too much detail now in case I get to posting the finished crossover.**

**Lastly, there is an explanation as to why France doesn't appear in Canada's "perfect world". I just don't want to spoil the plot just yet. **

**What I might end up doing is posting drabbles and tell the story through those but no final decision has been made yet.**

**Now that's all out of the way, THANK YOU FOR SITTING THROUGH MY POINTLESSLY IDIOTIC RAMBLINGS, forgiving the terrible grammar, and for taking the time to read my first drabble! Critiques are always welcome and reviews equal love~**

**Again, thank you! :D**


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